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Suddenly the low, earnest tone changed to one full of eagerness. "Who dat?" was called in sharp inquiry. "'Tain' nobody but me an' Polly, Ole 'Stracted," said Ephraim, pushing the door slightly wider open and stepping in. They had an indistinct idea that the poor deluded creature had fancied them his longed-for loved ones, yet it was a relief to see him bodily.
Whar you run, dar I'se gwine ter run right atter, so 'tain' no use a-rumpasin'. Hit's a pity dese yer ain' nuttin' but summer close." Dan looked at him a moment in silence, then he put out his hand and slapped him upon the shoulder. "You're a fool God bless you," he said. "Go 'way f'om yer, young Marster," responded the negro, in a high good-humour. "Dar's a speck er dut right on yo' shut."
"Hit brokes me all up ter year you talk so, honey, en I bless de Lawd 'tain' likely any ting gwinter hap'n in dese yere parts. De wah am ragin' way off fum heah, nobody comin' wid news, en bimeby you gits mo' settle down. Some day you know de valley ob peace en quietness." "See here, Aun' Jinkey," said the girl, with a flash of her eyes, "you know the little pond off in the woods.
In de ole days, a gemmen say to a gemmen: 'Yoh fence is too fur on mah line, sah! An' de gemmen answer back: ''Tain' no sich a-thing, sah! So dey frien's come by in de mawnin', an' has a julep, an' slips out de back way; an' dat evenin' de neighbors is all sayin': 'Too bad!
It was very low, and they both listened in awed silence, watching the door meanwhile as if they expected to see something supernatural spring from it. "Nem min' jes wait 'tain so long now he'll be heah torectly," said the voice. "Dat's what he say gwine come an' buy me back den we gwine home." In their endeavor to catch the words they moved nearer, and made a slight noise.
Thus, we have the feeling, even with regard to the Táin Bó Cúalnge, that what has come down to us is rather the rough-shaped material of an epic than a completed design.
"He lay down Against the hill, and his great heart broke there, And sent a stream of blood down all the slope; And thus, when all the war and Tain had ended, In his own land, 'midst his own hills, he died."* *The Tain, by Mary A. Hutton. The Cattle Raid of Cooley is a strange wild tale, yet from it we can learn a great deal about the life of these old, far-away times.
At Tain, we came upon the Rhone again, and walked along the base of the hills which contract its current. Here, I should call it beautiful. The scenery has a wildness that approaches to that of the Rhine. Rocky, castellated heights frown over the rushing waters, which have something of the majesty of their "exulting and abounding" rival.
Resumed my walk, and at about four miles from Tain, crossed the Dornoch Firth in a sail ferry boat, and at noon reached Dornoch, the capital of Sutherlandshire. This was one of the fourteen cities of Scotland; and its little, chubby cathedral, and the tower of the old bishop's palace still give it a kind of Canterbury air.
The songs of the bards were songs of battle; the great Irish epic of antiquity was the Táin Bó Cúalnge, or Cooley Cattle-raid, and it is full of combats and feats of strength and prowess. High character meant high pride, always ready to give account of itself and strike for its ideals: "Irritable and bold", as one historian has it.
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